Luigi
by grainweevil
Summary: Everyone's favourite trattoria owner is haunted by his past. Some slight Gene/Alex, but not enough to scare the phobic.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine; Auntie Beeb, Kudos, Monastic blah blah etc. I'll put Luigi back where I found him, not a blemish on his shiny jacket.

**A/N:** This has been hanging about in the dusty vaults of Weevil Towers since last summer; in other words I'm not at all sure about it. It's not my usual sort of thing at all, but the world's not exactly drowning in fic concerning everyone's favourite mild-mannered trattoria owner, so what the heck. The idea that there was more to Luigi than perhaps immediately meets the eye took root and wouldn't let go. And yeah, it's a stereotype – and on a subject I know precisely nothing about – but what else can you do when the plot bunny's gnawing at your ankle? There's also a fragment of Gene and Alex, but probably not enough to put the 'Galexy' haters off their spaghetti.

Thanks as ever to that stalwart of the blue pencil, Lucida Bright, for casting her eagle eye over it and uttering fatal words of advice. viz: 'post it'

**Luigi**

Luigi stared into the middle distance, absentmindedly wiping his cloth around yet another glass. A rainy evening in February was never going to be the busiest night but he had hoped he could at least count on the custom of Signor Hunt and his men. But no, not tonight. Inexplicably Fenchurch East CID had elected to go elsewhere. They did that sometimes – Luigi never knew why – tonight of all nights he could have done with their raucous presence, He sighed and reached for another glass. There were a thousand things he should have been doing, but he just couldn't. Not tonight. Not today.

Perhaps it was just as well the policemen had not come tonight. Or rather the policewoman. Signorina Drake was too much of a reminder. Luigi remembered back to when she'd first come into his trattoria. _Donna bella_. Every man in the place had thought the same thought as one man. So unlike his Maria in so many ways. But her smile. _Dio mio!_ It was Maria's to the life. Had Luigi been 10 years younger.. no, 5... then Signor Hunt would have lost before he'd even realised there was a contest. Luigi smiled to himself; Maria had never stood a chance. But then neither had he.

Luigi looked up as he heard a louder swish of traffic through the teeming rain outside. No, it was no-one. At least the lack of customers meant he didn't have to listen to the interminable loop of light operatic arias and Italian love songs. Not tonight. He thought back to when he had first laid eyes on Maria. A young man, keen to prove himself to his boss, going to collect the monthly payment from yet another small businessman. Just another baker. Nothing special. He'd been standing in the shop, trying to look cool amongst the bread and cakes while Salvatore did the business, and she'd walked in, humming to herself, back from her shopping trip. Calling to her papa as she closed the door, disconcerted to find him, Luigi, standing there. He knew that he'd stared at her. How could he not? Small, dark-haired, bright eyes, and that smile. Wavering now as she looked the question. _Who are you? What are you doing here?_

Luigi scowled in irritation. Why couldn't he remember what she'd been humming? He always had before. Was he really getting so old?

A footfall at the top of the steps; someone was coming. Luigi, alert, immediately recognised the sharp tap of heels. The Signorina was coming after all. He heard voices raised in argument. So Signor Hunt also. He moved swiftly; a glass of... he hesitated for a fraction of a second. A night like this, the Signorina would want red. And Signor Hunt? Already an argument? Luigi would risk a double whisky. The drinks were already waiting by the time the two of them had shaken off the worst of the rain and made their way to the bar.

"...all I'm saying, Gene, is that you can't make that assumption."

"It's not a bloody assumption. All the facts are staring us in the face."

Gene grabbed the Scotch, knocked back half of it in one gulp and thudded the glass back down.

"You're a bloody mind reader, Luigi. I'll have the spaghetti and another of these."

Alex merely smiled her thanks and studied the menu. Luigi turned abruptly to get the second whisky, turning his back on that smile. Not tonight.

Of course, that was the song Maria had been humming; a haunting song of a poor shepherd and his lost love. Luigi had joked about lost sheep and Maria had frowned at him despite her fear. He'd withered inside at his own stupidity, stammering an apology. Naturally Salvatore had come back at that moment and spent the rest of the day teasing him about it. By then Luigi couldn't have cared if the whole town has teased him; Maria had already agreed to see him on the following Sunday after church.

"Oi, Luigi. Where's that Scotch?"

"Scusi, Signor Hunt"

Luigi placed the glass on the bar, took Alex's order, complimented her on her choice and watched as she joined Gene at their corner table. Useless Englishman; all these months and still he had done nothing more than that one dinner. Such a woman as that would not wait for ever. Luigi sighed and turned away to pass chef the orders. He returned after a brief row over the day's vegetable delivery to see the two in the corner still deep in argument. Signorina Drake was slightly red in the face, making her point with the aid of jabs of her finger in the air, while Signor Hunt was staring at the table top, waiting for a pause in order to launch a counter-attack.

Luigi thought about his first argument with Maria. "Why do you work for him? Don't you realise what you're doing? My poor papa..." How could she understand? What else could he do; he'd have made a terrible fisherman. At least this way he got respect. A good wage. The money meant he could ask for Maria's hand while his contemporaries were still learning how to catch squid. Of course her father agreed; how could he do otherwise? And despite it all, Maria loved him, he knew that, As surely as he knew he loved her. Still did.

Welcome distraction arrived; Luigi took across the two plates of spaghetti. One piled high, the other more modest and accompanied by mounds of salad. It wasn't difficult to know who's was who's.

"Oi, Luigi, you know about the Mafia, right?"

"_Gene._" Alex rolled a despairing eye of apology at him. "I'm sorry, Luigi. _Some of us_ are aware that being Italian doesn't automatically mean you have anything to do with the Mafia." She glared at Gene meaningfully.

"I only said he could help."

"Gene, it's such a stereotype. It's like... like saying all Irishmen must be in the IRA!"

Signor Hunt looked a little uncomfortable at that and Luigi felt a sudden surge of unexpected sympathy for him.

"No, no, Signorina. These, you say, stereotypes, they do not happen for no reason. I... I may be able to help you."

Alex's face fell while Gene looked obnoxiously triumphant. Luigi found himself already regretting the sympathy.

"There you go, Bolls. Told you so. Grassy arse, Luigi. Come over the station tomorrow and we'll have a word."

"Si, Signor Hunt." He tried, and failed, to keep the hint of weariness from his voice.

"Enough about work. A jug of your house crap, Luigi, and another glass."

"Si, si."

As if he didn't already have the glass lined up on the bar in anticipation. At least the two doubles beforehand would ensure Signor Hunt didn't make a fuss about the quality of the wine. In another hour Luigi knew he could just as well serve up white spirit for all the notice they would take. By then they would have stopped arguing.

Luigi and Maria had never really stopped arguing, but he hadn't minded. Making up was compensation for falling out in the first place. A smile of memory played on his lips for a moment.

"Wot you grinning at?"

"Nothing, nothing. Where are your men tonight, Signor Hunt?"

"Apparently there's some not-to-be-missed guest beer at the Royal Oak, Luigi. Sorry."

Alex gave him a grimace of commiseration at his lost trade as she told him the bad news. Hunt avoided catching his eye and a small pearl of suspicion began to grow in Luigi's mind. Perhaps he wasn't such a useless Englishman after all.

"God knows why I'm not there too," Gene sniffed.

"I'm not stopping you, Gene," retorted Alex, bristling.

"Oh for God's sake-"

Luigi hurried away. Maria had tried to stop him. "Why should you sacrifice yourself for him?" Because he'd had no choice. The benefits had finally run out and it was payback time. The boss's brother had done something stupid – again. If he was found guilty this time they'd throw away the key. That was not good for respect. A lowly foot soldier going down for the crime though? That was nothing. So such a lamb would be sacrificed; a lamb with no record to speak of. A light sentence, time off for good behaviour and he'd hardly know he'd been jailed at all. And the family would look after him. Of course they would. Not that Luigi was given the choice. Either he did it, or he was as good as dead.

He looked across at the corner table. The food was finished and already their heads were closer together. Luigi remembered that last night with Maria, before he went to give himself up for the crime he did not do. The crime the carabinieri knew he hadn't done. The crime the judge knew him to be innocent of. The crime he was given an 8 year sentence for. All of them trapped by the circumstances; having to agree to fabricated evidence. He'd spoken light-heartedly to Maria. He would see her soon; it was no time. He'd be out in 4 years, maybe 5. She hadn't told him then. Only when he was starting his sentence, adjusting to the strange new world behind bars, did Maria break the news. She was expecting his child.

Luigi cleared his throat of the sudden rush of emotion. They needed more wine. He hurried over with another jug.

"... wouldn't you like to know, Gene."

"Since you're offering, Bolls..."

Best to leave them to it. Last thing they needed was a raspberry. No, what was the expression? Ah, a gooseberry, that was it. Such a strange language. Learning it had certainly occupied his mind while waiting to hear that his child had been born. Learning it had almost helped him through the remaining years until he was eventually released.

Freedom. 4 years and 8 months after his Maria had died. 4 years and 8 months after little Vincente had come into the world. A still born. A son he'd never seen. A wife he'd never see again.

32 years ago today.

Luigi clenched his jaw in determination; he wouldn't cry over them. Not again. He'd gone to visit the grave just once, that first day. Stood over the simple memorial and cried and cried. Then he'd wiped his face and vowed never to cry over them again. Made his plans. Gone back to the boss; as a favoured man now, having given up everything for the family. He been given more responsibility, quickly come to know how things worked. Where the secrets were buried. Where the money was kept.

Then one day he'd made use of that knowledge, as he'd always planned to. Cleaned out three bank accounts, dropped a large file of evidence in the post to police headquarters and just disappeared. Gianni Inzerillo had ceased to exist. He'd left the town, the island, the country. Traveled far, changing his identity many times, until he'd finally found himself here in London. Finally free of the obligation and ties. His own man. His own. Alone.

Luigi sniffed and glanced across to the corner table. He realised he'd forgotten to put the tape on, but they didn't seem to care. Police officers as his best customers; the boss would have probably have had a heart attack. Then ordered Luigi's disposal with his last breath. The proximity of the police station was one of the reasons for purchasing this business. A little insurance, in addition to the careful covering of his tracks.

Luigi smiled automatically as they got up from the table, Signor Hunt slapping an over-generous ten pound note on the bar and following the Signorina out of the door and up the stairs. He wondered if they'd make it as far as the flat before one or other would say the wrong thing and Signor Hunt would come back down and storm out to his car. A squeak followed by a muffled giggle floated down the stairs and Luigi smiled again. Perhaps this time.

He took the envelope out of his pocket for the umpteenth time, the Sicilian postmark seeming to stand out brighter than reality. They'd found him at last. Today of all days. Luigi gazed up at the ceiling as he heard the flat door slam. Tomorrow. He'd speak to Signor Hunt tomorrow.

**The End**


End file.
